


I Want You to Want Me

by ashadeofpemberley



Series: I Want You to Want Me [2]
Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Attempt at Humor, Explicit Language, F/M, Fake Marriage, Fluff and Angst, Humor, Life Partners In Crime
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:54:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27274510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashadeofpemberley/pseuds/ashadeofpemberley
Summary: After receiving notice that his visa is about to expire, Bog King, head botanist at FairFace Cosmetics and all around miserable bastard, is informed he needs to get married.Immediately.Luckily for him, Marianne Fairchild, CEO of FairFace Cosmetics, is available, attractive, and needs him to keep her company afloat.Some marriages begin through friendship, others begin with a plan to pull one over on the federal government.
Relationships: Bog King & Marianne (Strange Magic), Bog King/Marianne (Strange Magic), Dawn/Sunny (Strange Magic)
Series: I Want You to Want Me [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2101587
Comments: 55
Kudos: 56





	1. Everyone is on Edge and Sunny Needs a Raise

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my first Strange Magic fic! I am a HUGE Butterfly Bog fan (as I'm sure you'll see) and have been thinking about writing my own fic for a while now!  
> I am also looking for someone to beta my fic so if anyone is interested, please leave me a note in the comments!!
> 
> Now on with the show!

In general, Sunny Elfman liked his job. 

As personal assistant to co-founder and CEO of FairFace Cosmetics, Marianne Fairchild, he got a more than fair wage, an hour lunch break, and first pick of any new products that came out (their lavender bath salts were legendary). 

It also didn’t hurt that the other co-founder and face of FairFace Cosmetics (also known as Marianne’s little sister), was his best friend and the love of his life: Dawn Fairchild. The two girls had built the company themselves from the ground up and had become the area’s leading producer of organic, sustainable, plant-based cosmetics. 

Marianne was the mastermind behind the venture, always having wanted to create a name for herself in the business world that wouldn’t have to rely on her father’s success as a commercial real estate developer or her late mother’s inherited wealth. 

But Dawn was certainly the heart of the company. As a former teen model and the head of their Marketing and Communications Department, her kind demeanor and innocent beauty won the hearts of corporate giants and lowly assistants alike. 

It took exactly five minutes of meeting Dawn Fairchild before Sunny decided that she was quite possibly the most perfect human being on the planet.

Of course, it took about 2 years for him to say any of that out loud. And then another six months for the words to actually be said to her face. To be fair, it never seemed like there was an appropriate time to reveal his feelings, especially since Dawn had quite a lot of crushes and short-term relationships with men that were far richer, manlier, and taller than the poor-music-student-turned-less-poor-assistant that only stood at 5’3” if you included his hair. Not to mention the fact that he had been petrified of the idea of losing Dawn as a friend or worse: facing the wrath of her sister.

But, as they say, true love conquers all (“all” meaning the douche-y boyfriends and a couple years worth of bottled up feelings). At last year’s annual Christmas party Sunny finally saw his chance as he had picked Dawns name as his giftee for the staff’s Secret Santa. He had spent months working on a song for her and had even bribed the party’s DJ to help him set it up to where he could perform it for her in front of the rest of the company. It was a gutsy move, but in the end his efforts had well been worth it. After he had finished his song and the staff gave a supportive but nervous applause, Dawn herself stepped on stage. She looked at him for a moment, before the brightest grin split her perfect face and she asked what took him so long before kissing him for all to see.

Once the word was out in the open that Sunny was in love with his boss’s sister, Sunny immediately began to worry about his coworkers opinions on the subject. Sure it was fine when it was a pathetic unrequited crush, but now weak little Sunny might actually hold some sway. His fears were unnecessary though because right after their first date Dawn marched them both into the office the next morning, her manicured hand firmly clasping his guitar callused one and promptly announced to everyone within earshot that Sunny Elfman was now her boyfriend and anyone who had a problem with that could take it up with her sister and the head of HR.  
So now he had a pretty sweet job and a beloved girlfriend, whom he could see while working at said job. Life was pretty well perfect.

 _“Sunny! If I don’t have those bastards from the Immigration Department on the phone in ten minutes I’m drop kicking you and them off the goddamn balcony!”_ Marianne shouted through his desks intercom.

Okay, so maybe it wasn’t perfect. 

The last couple of weeks had not exactly been kind to the elder Fairchild sister, as the release date for a new line of henna-based body paints was rapidly approaching, the formula had yet to be approved by the Product Development team, and their top botanist had received a letter in the mail from the United States government kindly notifying him that he would be asked to leave the country in a matter of weeks before being forcibly removed. 

Said botanist, Bendigeidfran Orrick Grant-King, also known as Bog to anyone who was not his mother and wanted to keep their teeth inside of their head, had been with the company for coming on three years now on a work visa from Scotland. At a gangly 6’7” and covered in a mixture of scars and tattoos, Bog was not what one might picture when thinking of a man spending his days planting seven different strains of petunias. He was more of the kind of guy one might picture when reading a headline like “Vicious Biker Sets Fire to Community Garden Using Two Sticks and Pure Rage.”

So naturally, his acceptance of working with a pair of American sisters had come as a surprise to just about everyone. Not that he wasn’t qualified for his position. In fact, Bog was renowned in his field as something of a genius when it came to plant hybrids and mutations. His work had been featured in several prominent magazines since the age of nineteen and his ability to manipulate plant life was unparalleled by anyone else in the Western Hemisphere. He was truly a gifted man.

He was also a bit of an asshole. 

Researchers from across the globe had practically begged to be a part of his work and, more importantly, to see his greenhouses where the real magic happened, but they all had been harshly refused. To say the Scotsman was secretive about his research was a gross understatement. He was borderline obsessed and had gone through more assistants than every other FairFace employee combined. Rumor had it that right before he accepted the job at FairFace he had just done a stint at a mental institution due to a nervous breakdown that caused him to destroy his latest project and a great deal of his other work. Given his tendency to throw test tubes at his lab assistants whilst shouting angrily in Gaelic, this rumor was generally accepted as truth. 

Once a couple of sales reps broke into the lab after hours on a dare only to find Bog in lab coat drenched in what looked like blood (but would later turn out to be a bucket of liquid fertilizer that had spilled) holding a small axe (garden spade) in his hand— their screams could apparently be heard by the night guard, three janitors, and Janice, the poor receptionist who vowed never to forget her keys again. That event sparked another rumor which claimed he had been caught using human bodies as fertilizer in Scotland and had fled to America to escape prosecution. 

That rumor was mostly told to interns and particularly gullible sales reps.

“Sunny! Get me Plum on the phone too- tell her it’s an emergency and that I don’t care if I caught her in the middle of her ‘Morning Meditation Hour’ again!”

“Sure thing Marianne!” Sunny replied, “I’m on it!”

He spun himself around to face his desk only to find Stephanie Upton, “Stuff” to her friends, standing in front of him weighted under a stack of file folders a foot tall. Stuff was one of two of the remaining lab assistants to Bog King, a fact which could probably be attributed to the fact that she genuinely enjoyed her job and that her superior reflexes allowed her to dodge any glass projectiles that came flying in her general area. With a somewhat dramatic sigh, she dropped the mound of papers she had been carrying onto his desk. 

“BK sent these up for the Boss Lady to look at before the staff meeting tomorrow.” she said. 

“Oh, uh, well I’m not sure if she’ll have time to read all of this…” Sunny trailed off before casting a nervous glance back at the still closed door to Marianne’s office. 

“Listen Stuff, things are kind of tense right now and I’m pretty sure if I put anything other than a newly minted work visa or a giant raspberry muffin on Marianne’s desk today she might actually skewer me with one of those swords she has in her office.”

Stuff gave an appreciative snort at that. “I know what you mean. BK has done nothing but growl and mutter weird Scottish curses since he got that notice from the feds.”

“So do you think he’s actually going to be deported?” Sunny said while struggling to keep the mound of folders from spilling all over his desk. 

Stuff shrugged. “I hope not. I mean, even though he can get kind of…” she paused for a moment trying to find the right word that wouldn’t potentially get her sent to a sensitivity seminar,“Temperamental, he’s a pretty good boss. Besides, Thang would probably have to be hospitalized from grief if that ever happened.”

Thang, or Thaddeus Vanderbilt, was the other lab assistant. He was comparatively young, at least to the others that had preceded him, and wore large, thick glasses that gave him a look of a frog that was always surprised. Thang had started out in the mail room delivering messages and being a courier between departments. After forty-eight hours of misplaced envelopes, missing packages, and possibly the strangest game of Telephone ever, every employee at FairFace had come to the conclusion that Thang’s particular gifts were best suited elsewhere...like Saturn. 

Luckily for him, just as he was about to be called in to Human Resources to be put on an indefinite “leave of absence”, Bog King himself marched into the office and loudly demanded that they send another replacement for his “worthless bawbag of an excuse for an assistant” before he disposed of them himself. After being told that it would take at least a week for another replacement to be hired (the employment agency was rapidly running out of candidates), Bog turned his attention to Thang, who had been watching the ordeal with a terrified kind of awe. 

After a brief interview _(“Can you use a watering can?” “Yes?” “Can you use a tape measure?” “Kind of?” “Good enough, be in the basement in 15 minutes.”)_ , Bog had made the executive decision to take the underqualified bird in the hand and make do.  
And just like that Thaddeus Vanderbilt became the new lab assistant for FairFace Cosmetics as well as Bog King’s number one fan. 

“So what’s he gonna do?” Sunny asked and Stuff gave another shrug. “Who knows? BK swears that he had all of his forms signed and in order months ago and HR was supposed to have sent them out by now but all I know is that Uncle Sam claims he never did any of that.”  
Sunny gave a sympathetic huff as he moved the last of the papers into Marianne’s already overflowing mail basket and Stuff waved a quick goodbye as she headed back toward the elevator. 

Even though the man scared the hell out of him most of the time, he still hated to see Bog be forced to leave the country for something as stupid as misplaced paperwork. Ever since he had joined the company, Bog had developed several different strains of flowers that not only could be used in their cosmetic products but the unusable parts of the plant could be composted to help fertilize the next season’s crop. And as much as Marianne would hate to admit it, Bog had been integral to keeping her company in the black the past few years. 

Which was probably why she had been ready to storm the Immigration Department like a vengeful fairy when she found out that her most valuable employee was about to be taken right from underneath her nose. It also didn’t help that even before the whole disaster with Bog’s paperwork, the two of them always seemed to be tap dancing on each other’s last nerve. Dawn called it “unresolved sexual tension.” Sunny called it verbal threats of physical violence-- ones that he was required to record during every staff meeting. 

With a short glance to the teetering tower of papers that Marianne would eventually have to shift through, Sunny swiped through a list of contacts until he found the one that would get him in touch with FairFace’s “lawyer.” The woman was nuttier than a family of squirrels, but she was also incredibly creative when it came to thinking up legal loopholes. He could hear Marianne furiously tapping away on her own keyboard, no doubt sending another scathing email to anyone left in the Immigration Department who hadn’t blocked her from contacting them. Cracking his knuckles, Sunny began dialling the number for Plumeria Devereaux and hoped beyond hope that she had cut her yoga session short today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wish Sunny luck- he'll need it!!
> 
> As mentioned at the top of the story, this fic currently does not have a beta so if one of you darlings are interested just leave me a note in the comment section!
> 
> Thanks for reading and I'll hopefully see you soon!


	2. Marianne Needs a Break and Bog Needs a Way Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's see how our two favorites are handling everything... spoiler alert: Not Great.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 is here!  
> I meant to post it this morning but somehow my draft got deleted :/  
> Anyway, a HUGE thank you to JoJo who beta'd this for me!!

This day could not get much worse.

Marianne had been about three legal documents away from a nervous breakdown when her sister came to rescue her from the horde of file folders threatening to consume her desk. Even though Dawn did have an uncanny intuition when it came to knowing when Marianne needed a break from work, she had a sneaking suspicion that her future brother-in-law/assistant had probably sent an SOS to Dawn that afternoon. In hindsight, Marianne recognized that she was acting more than a little crazy at the moment, but in all fairness the month she had been having was nothing short of insane.

To start, her dad had recently gotten into the matchmaking business during his retirement and decided Marianne was to be his first victim. That meant in addition to her normal barrage of phone calls coming to her desk she also had about half a dozen “nice boys” from “good families” texting her cell asking when she wanted to get dinner, get laid, and get married (not necessarily in that order). 

Then she had shareholders and customers alike breathing down her neck awaiting the launch of the new line of body paints and semi-permanent tattoos, which was supposed to be in two weeks. The company had been trapped in a No-Man’s Land for almost a year now between “internet fad” and “profitable, long-term investment.” This launch was designed to put FairFace firmly in the latter category. 

However, there wouldn’t even be a launch if the US government had anything to say about it. The amount of chaos a couple of unsigned legal forms could cause boggled her mind. In a matter of weeks she was going to lose her most valuable employee and be forced to put the entire operation on hold for months, perhaps even years. And according to the miserable cockroach commonly known as Bog King, it was all her fault. Marianne could still hear the murderous thuds of those hideous work boots as Bog stormed into her office first thing in the morning (nearly trampling over Sunny in his blind rage). With a mighty smack of his palm, he slapped a very official looking paper with a government seal on her desk, _“WHAT THE FUCK, FAIRCHILD?!”_

Now it was not exactly a secret that Marianne and Bog had had trouble getting along in the past. In fact, it had only been within a few hours of him actually being an official employee that he had managed to make one of the Fairchild sisters cry and the other threaten to have his head on a stick. 

No one really had to guess who the second one was. 

After some gruff apologies and a mini sunflower hybrid left on Dawn’s desk the next day, all was forgiven (mostly). 

From then on Bog King had what could only be classified as a weird relationship with the two Fairchild sisters. Dawn, for some unknown reason, had taken an immediate liking to him after he “saved her life on his first day” (her words, not his) and made him a personalized (gaudy) name tag that was complete with smiling cartoon flowers and glittery rain cloud stickers surrounding the name “Dr. Bog ‘Boggy’ King” in purple bubble letters. (Bog would deny it until his dying day, he actually was quite touched at this gesture and kept the name tag in a desk drawer at home next to letters from his mother.) 

Marianne’s demeanor toward him hadn’t changed all that much, although there were no more direct threats to any of his extremities. It wasn’t that she hated him per se, there was just something so infuriating about the way he seemed to challenge her authority every chance he got. Both of them were used to being in charge, so a little friction was to be expected. (These moments of friction usually occurred during mandatory staff meetings and began with little quips and barbs before eventually morphing into duel challenges and Dawn quietly dismissing the rest of the staff.)

And just to make sure Marianne knew that fate was out to get her personally, Plum had decided to go on yet another one of her international yoga retreats and was currently three time zones away. As a small consolation prize, she promised to video chat with Marianne to discuss their legal options the day after tomorrow. 

The last of what must have been the thousandth email to the Immigration Department had just been sent with a satisfying “whoosh” as Marianne grabbed her jacket from the back of her chair and the two Fairchild sisters made their way towards the elevator.

Dawn gave Sunny a quick peck on the cheek as they walked past his desk while Marianne just grunted something about being back in an hour. 

Dawn waved and continued exchanging air kisses with Sunny until the elevator doors closed, while Marianne rolled her eyes. She was happy that Dawn was happy, but those two were absolutely nauseating at times. Pressing the ground floor button with probably more force than necessary, Marianne returned her attention back to her email inbox. 

“What are you thinking for lunch, Marianne? Maybe we could give that one Thai place another chance?” Dawn shifted her tiny handbag over her shoulder. 

“Sure Dawn, that’s fine.” Marianne blandly replied while scanning her phone for any replies to the other 999 emails she had sent that week. 

“Really? Cause after the last time we went there you got wicked food poisoning and were in the bathroom like the rest of the week?”

“Uh-huh,” Marianne nodded, clearly not listening. 

Dawn raised an annoyed eyebrow. As the baby of the family, she was not used to being ignored and certainly wasn’t going to start getting used to it now at age twenty-four. 

“Great. Well, then afterwards I thought we might take another hour to get mani-pedis, does that sound okay?”

Marinanne gave a slight bob of her head, now not even bothering to pretend like she was listening. Marianne hated people touching her feet, and she chewed her fingernails down to the quicks when she was nervous about something, which meant that they were probably chewed to her wrists by now.

“Then maybe we should stop by a biker bar and make out with strangers, or visit a BDSM club so I can finally fulfill my dream of becoming a dominatrix.”

“Yeah Dawn, that sounds- Wait. What?!”

Marianne’s head snapped to attention, facing her angelic sister with eyes the size of softballs. 

Dawn smiled innocently, flipping her short blonde hair over her shoulder. 

“Hi Marianne, welcome back. Glad to see you again.” 

Marianne sighed, surrendering her phone to her jacket pocket. “Sorry Dawn, it’s just all this stuff with Bog and the new product launch has me losing my mind.”

Dawn’s face softened and she patted her sister’s shoulder. “I know you hate it when I say this, but I’m going to anyway. Everything’s going to be okay. If anyone can get us through this thing it's you. Well, you and me and Sunny-Wunny. Honestly I don’t know what you would do without us there to feed you and remind you what a toothbrush is.”

“Hey, that was one time in college and I had just pulled two all-nighters!” Marianne protested with a laugh. 

“Still,” Dawn continued as the elevator door dinged, signaling their arrival at the ground floor. “I think the best way to solve a problem is to take your mind off it for a bit. Besides, you know how you get when you’re hungry.”

“You’re not just saying this so Sunny can have an hour away from me, right? Just because he’s your boyfriend doesn’t mean he’s gonna get special treatment.” 

Dawn rolled her eyes.

“Of course not Marianne. I’m not doing this as a favor for my super-cute and incredibly talented boyfriend… I’m doing this as a favor to the entire building.” 

“Oh, okay…Wait. Hey!!” Marianne speed-walked after her now giggling sister who was now halfway out the lobby and into the bustling city streets.

Once she had caught up with her sister, another thought suddenly hit Marianne.

“How do you know what a dominatrix is, Dawn?”

The answer to which was more giggling from Dawn followed by outraged sputterings from Marianne.

* * *

“Thang! Where the hell is Stuff? She was supposed to have the lab results back to me half an hour ago!”

Dr. Bog King had a habit of shouting when he was stressed… or tired… or happy… or excited, or really just when he needed to say something that was not a trade secret. Thang came tumbling out of one of the rows of aloe plants holding a watering can in one hand and a clipboard in the other. His abnormally large eyes were well protected with lab goggles, despite the fact he was strictly forbidden to handle any chemicals other than water. It was generally pretty difficult to need the emergency eyewash station twice in one week, but somehow Thang had managed to have need of it thrice a day if left unsupervised... hence, the goggles.

“She went upstairs BK. I think she was taking copies of our progress reports up to Miss Marianne.”

Bog muttered under his breath. “Damn weekly staff meeting. If she would just leave me be and quit dragging me upstairs every other day I might actually be able to get some work done.”

After nearly two years of working for FairFace, Bog had become accustomed to having the oldest Fairchild sister breathing down his neck for updates about his work. 

At first, he found it respectable that the CEO would take such a personal interest in the quality of her products rather than just how much toxic waste could be put in before the FDA took notice. But as the deadline for the season’s new product launch drew closer, Marianne’s interest in the details of his work morphed into thinking that she could make his plants grow faster through sheer force of will. 

Not that he was the only one under the microscope. 

He had overheard Thang and Stuff talking about how people from several different departments were growing tired of constantly sending up reports and projections only to have them sent back down with their time lines cut in half.

By his calculations, his henna hybrids would be ready for harvesting in exactly 43 days and not a minute sooner. Any earlier and the plants wouldn’t have had enough time to absorb the different minerals that were infused in the soil which gave them their unique pigments and any later wouldn’t give the production team time to fill orders. 

And despite everything, Bog genuinely liked the work he was doing here. It was liberating to let his creativity take the wheel and to try things that most labs would have deemed a waste of money and time. The entire basement of the building was his domain and short of growing something that would actually eat employees, he was free to do as he wished.

That being said, he had just about reached his limit with Marianne fucking Fairchild. 

The woman wasn’t just frustrating, she was absolutely impossible!

“She misplaces my visa papers and then has the gall to blame me for this mess?!” Bog grumbled to himself, snatching up a pair of gardening shears. His muddy boots squeaked a bit as he marched his way through rows of greenery. The raised beds of chamomile were blooming and needed to be pruned to keep the crops as healthy and full as possible. 

Besides, he really needed to chop something up. 

The prospect of being deported was daunting enough, but the idea of leaving his work, some of his best work too, for some halfwit to cock up was almost unbearable. No one knew how delicate each and every one of his plants were, not just the hybrids. Each one had different water, sunlight, and soil requirements to start with, but the dead plants were just as important as the live ones. His special recipe for compost was volatile at the best of times, and only a true expert would know what to add or remove from the concoction to keep it from emitting enough gas to blow the building sky high. 

That, plus the possibility of moving back home only to have everyone stare at him again like he was some kind of leper, was enough to keep Bog awake at night. He cut a dead stem with a satisfying snip.

He couldn’t go back, not now. 

Snip.

Not yet.

Snip. Snip.

“Hey BK, got those lab reports for you and took those progress reports up while I was there.” Stuff entered into the room where the camomile was housed. She set down the folder which Bog presumed had the lab reports he was waiting on and poked at one of the buds that had just begun to bloom. He grunted something that Stuff had learned to interpret as a thanks. After a solid year of working for the guy, Stuff had nearly perfected the art of interpreting grunts, groans, and Gaelic curses (she was thinking of writing a manual for future employees).

Several more dead stems fell to the floor where Thang would collect them later to add to the compost bins.

“Soo,” Stuff drawled, “Any news about your papers?”

Bog grunted again, and Stuff interpreted this as a firm, “No, and don’t ask me again.” But she chose to press on.

“It sounds like Miss Marianne is still trying to get a hold of someone in Immigration. Sunny says she’s been on the phone or her computer almost nonstop.”

Bog snorted, “God-fucking-speed to her.”

Bog himself had tried to get someone, anyone, to listen to his plight. Lawyers, social workers, and any government official that actually answered their phone, none of them seemed to have the time nor the inclination to help. He would have called Jehovah’s Witness if he thought it would have done any good. And between the normal influx of immigrants looking for work and surplus of refugees seeking asylum, the chances of him getting the attention of any charitable organization was laughable at best. 

_“Not that I should even have to do any of this because I signed all the fucking papers like they said.”_ Bog grumbled to himself, furiously chopping at another dead stem. He noticed Stuff shuffling around behind him, looking as if she was going to say something but hesitating. Stephanie Upton was many things, but hesitant had never been one of them. It was one of the things Bog liked best about having her as a lab assistant; she gave as good as she got and never held back her opinions just because he was the boss. 

“Was there something else?” Bog set down shears for a moment, wiping his hands on his already filthy apron. Stuff still looked a little uncomfortable but met his eyes (which was actually quite difficult because she was at least a foot shorter than him). 

“I was just wondering… actually Thang and I were both wondering, what’s gonna happen if you, ya know, get deported?” She scratched the side of her shaved head nervously. “I mean, cause like I know we technically work for Fairface, but we’re _your_ assistants and let’s face it, Thang would probably be fired or in the hospital within a week if you weren’t here to supervise.”

Bog grimaced imagining someone else trying to assign tasks to Thang without knowing how inconceivably danger prone he was. Even with his supervision their longest running streak of “Days without Lab Accidents” was five, and that was when Thang was out with the flu for three of those five. But as much as he would deny it, he would genuinely miss his little team should he be forced to leave. They had developed a type of system between the three of them and against all odds it worked. Bog handled most of the actual tending to and crossbreeding of the plants; Stuff, armed with her BA in biochemistry, conducted any tests needed to show that the mutant plants were safe for cosmetic use and prepared chemical compounds to be added to the soil, and Thang was their go to guy for all the miscellaneous tasks that popped up throughout the week. Although he had a truly astounding talent for mishearing messages and messing up even the most menial of tasks, Thang somehow always came through for them in the end. 

“I guess,” Bog said, “Fairchild would have to find someone else for a while. Or maybe she’d just bump you up to head botanist, Stuff.” 

She gave a small smirk at that. Although she was a gifted biochemist and far less likely to set the place on fire than Thang, her botany talents were nowhere near that of Bog’s. 

“She’s not gonna fire ye, if that’s what yer worried about.” Bog offered reassuringly. 

“No, it’s just,” Stuff broke his gaze for a moment, “I guess I just like working with you guys… I mean, you guys are cool, with me and...everything.”

Stuff didn’t often talk about being intersex, in fact this was probably only the second or third time she had ever even alluded to it. On her first day, before he had even finished introducing himself and the work that they would be doing, she had said to him, “Just so you know, I’m intersex and have CAIS. If that’s going to be a problem here or if it makes you uncomfortable, fine, take it up with HR. But I’m done pretending to be someone else to make other people feel more comfortable.” Her boldness might have been off-putting to some but for Bog it was a breath of fresh air. The last dozen or so lab assistants had been either airheaded sycophants or lazy grad students looking to “borrow” some of his research for their thesis. All of them just said what he wanted to hear and wouldn’t recognize integrity if it smacked them in their ass-kissing mouths. 

Now Bog would be the first to admit that he didn’t know all that much about intersex people, but he did know about biology and all it’s variables. There were hundred if not thousands of chromosome variations in this lab and each one produced something special and valuable. He tried saying as much to Stuff, and probably just sounded like a moron, but it seemed to be a satisfactory enough answer because here they were a year later working like a well-oiled machine. 

Before Bog could come up with a reassuring response (one of many conversational weaknesses), they heard a crash and loud hissing noise coming from where Thang had been watering the aloe. They didn’t have a clear view of him but from the sounds of it, Thang had turned the water pressure too high and was currently wrestling the hose like it was an irate alligator. 

Whatever tension that had been hanging in the air was replaced with the racket down the hall.  
“Welp, that’s my cue, BK.” Stuff’s voice had switched back to its normal easy drawl. She slid the door shut on her way out, leaving Bog alone once again with his shears, his plants, and his thoughts. 

_“There has to be a way out of this,”_ he clenched the shears in his thin hand, _“And I’ll do whatever it takes to find it.”_

Maybe it was time to call a meeting of his own.

* * *

“Mmmmm, that was good. I’m glad you talked me into this, little sis.” Marianne patted her stomach like a mother of a healthy food baby. 

Dawn giggled. “We ate burgers at your favorite diner; it wasn’t too hard of a sell.”

Marianne smiled back as they walked back up the stairs to the fifth floor where their offices were located. Dawn had a strict rule of doing some light exercise after each meal and if it meant prolonging the time between a delightfully greasy lunch and returning to the abyss of paperwork and phone calls that awaited her, Marianne was happy to participate. 

“Actually Marianne, there was something I forgot to talk to you about during lunch.” Dawn said as she forced open the door to the fifth floor. Despite the door not being that heavy, it still took all the blonde’s weight to push it open. 

“Sure, is it something with the website?” Marianne asked, “I heard that IT was having trouble with some online orders being doubled during checkout.” 

“No, the website’s fine.” Dawn replied a little too brightly. She was using the same tone she used when she was working up the nerve to tell their dad that she spent nearly $1700.00 on her senior prom dress. They had crossed the short corridor that split the floor between management and HR and Marketing and Communications. Dawn followed Marianne towards her end of the building. 

“Okay, well unless it’s something urgent I really need to get back to work with this Immigration thing.” Marianne had slipped back into what Dawn called “work-mode” which meant her usual walking pace had now doubled. The two of them were now standing outside the frosted glass encasing her office suite.

“Well, actually that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I might have called in some reinforcements last night.” Dawn’s voice was now reaching a dangerously high level.

Marianne’s hand froze on the door handle.

“Dawn,” her voice held a low note of warning, “Who exactly did you call?”

Plum was on a mountain somewhere in Asia, and none of Dawn’s friends were legal experts (at least that she knew of). 

That left just one other person. 

With a jerk of her arm, Marianne opened the door to see Sunny trying to hide behind a mound of file folders, a mail carrier sorting through her outgoing mail, and her father reclined in the small couch that served as a waiting area, casually flipping through a magazine that was probably older than the table it was sitting on. 

Apparently, this day _could_ get worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here comes Dagda!
> 
> I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter- I had a lot of fun writing it! 
> 
> Also for anyone who is wondering about where I did my research for Stuff's character, I got most of my information from http://interactadvocates.org/. They're an awesome organization that helps educate allies and intersex people alike and I highly recommend you check it out!!
> 
> Thanks for reading and I'll see you in Chapter 3!


	3. Meetings Are Held and Marriage Is Proposed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dagda is here and Marianne is pretty sure the universe is messing with her personally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A HUGE thanks to JoJo, who helped me make this chapter the best it can be!

“Daddy!” 

Dawn skipped towards their father, arms spread wide. They had moved from the little waiting area into Marianne’s office, which -while currently drowning in paperwork and sticky notes- was vastly more private for their reunion. 

“Hello girls,” he replied warmly, enveloping his youngest daughter in a tight hug. Marianne hung back, still puzzling out how her father had apparently traveled from his place in the south of France to the middle of Pennsylvania with less than 24 hours notice.

Dagda turned towards his eldest daughter, releasing Dawn from his embrace.

“Hi sweetheart,” he said, giving her a small, slightly nervous smile. 

Marianne briefly considered just blowing past the “hello’s and how are you’s” just to ask what, exactly, he was doing here but thought the better of it. Ever since her father retired and moved across the Atlantic she rarely got to see him outside of major holidays. 

Dagda Fairchild was something of a legend among East Coast real estate developers, having started his own business at age twenty-five and making his first million just five years later. But even with nearly a lifetime of success under his belt, he had not become so arrogant as to no longer appreciate the struggles of the average business owner. In fact, he made it a point to support as many small business owners as he could through grants, start-ups, and flat out offering up retail space in one of his numerous buildings for pennies on the dollar. Not to mention the dozens of charities he and her mother had patroned; Marianne had lost count how many ribbons her parents had cut in their lifetimes. If pressed, she would even say that her father was a large part of the reason Marianne had started a business on her own. 

Letting herself get pulled in for a brief hug, Marianne couldn’t help but take a deep inhale of her father’s familiar peppermint scent and smile. Dagda Fairchild prided himself on not having many personal weaknesses; he didn’t gamble, didn’t smoke, and allowed himself exactly one glass of wine a week. But he had absolutely no control when it came to chocolate peppermints and generally kept a few handfuls on his person at all times. And judging by his expanded waistline, it appeared that retirement had allowed him to indulge himself a bit more often. 

“Hi Dad,” she said, stepping back, “What are you doing here? I thought you were going to that wine festival on Saturday?” 

“Bah,” Dagda waved his hand dismissively, “It’s France, every Saturday is a wine festival. And when Dawn told me that you were having trouble with work I just hopped on a red-eye flight and came right over.” 

Marianne shot a look over his shoulder at her sister who suddenly seemed to remember a pressing matter taking place near Sunny’s desk and conveniently out of arm’s reach. 

“You really didn’t have to do that, Dad. I’ve got everything under control here, I’m meeting with Plum on Fr-”

Dagda cut her off with a frown. “Plum? I thought she had been forbidden from practicing law since she defended that lunatic who wanted to marry a lizard?” 

“Well, _technically_ she’s not a lawyer, but she still gives some freelance advice on the side.” Marianne replied defensively. _She’ll also work for eye shadow palettes and hair dye_ , she thought to herself. But that was neither here nor there.

Her father did not seem convinced.

“Well, be that as it may, I still don’t understand why you haven’t started looking for a replacement for this Dr. King of yours? I’m sure I could call one of my contacts at the university. There’s a fellow at... ” 

“Dad!” Marianne raised her voice. This was the very reason she hadn’t wanted to tell her father of her work woes in the first place. Dagda Fairchild had one other terrible habit (besides the peppermints), which was completely taking over his daughters' projects the moment when one of them started to struggle. Marianne was fairly certain Dawn hadn’t done a science fair project on her own until she was seventeen. 

“Bog isn’t just some guy we picked up at Home Depot. He’s doing things here that no one else could even begin to replicate without years of trial and error which is time and money we don’t have.” 

“Well, Fairchild, I had no idea ye thought so highly of me and my work.” 

As if the universe was handing her a personal invitation to go fuck herself, Bog King appeared out of nowhere tracking mud onto her carpet. Standing in the doorway, he seemed to tower over the lot of them, even their father who stood at a regal 5’10”. 

“What are you doing here?” Marianne demanded, her mood swinging from anxious to annoyed in an instant. What was the point of having a personal assistant if everyone and their dog just waltzed in to her office like they owned the place?

“Marianne, who is this?” he father asked, taking a step back as Bog advanced into the room, shutting the door behind him. 

“Dr. Bog King,” The tall man replied, “Now who are you?”

“Oh, I beg your pardon, I am Dagda Fairchild, Marianne is my daughter.” Dagda stuck out his hand but almost immediately retracted it once he noticed Bog’s stained and dirty fingers.

“My condolences.” Bog turned his attention back to Marianne as her father sputtered in outrage.

“And to answer your question, I’m here to make sure you’re actually trying to help keep me here with my team and not replacing me with some university hack.”

“Hey! I’ve been working my ass off up here trying to fix your mistake so you can spend your days sulking in the basement with your watering can!” Marianne was furious. It was one thing for Bog to accuse her of trying to replace him behind his back (he’d been paranoid about keeping his work out of academia since day one) but to do it in front of her father?

He was going to pay for that one. 

She was mere seconds away from snapping him in half over her knee like a stick when Sunny’s voice came over the intercom on her phone. 

_“Uh, Marianne?”_

“What.” Marianne growled, her eyes never leaving Bog’s. If looks could kill, they both would’ve had to have been carried out in body bags. 

_“Uh well, Dr. King is here to see you.”_

“Yes Sunny, I can see that. Anything else?” she asked impatiently. 

_“Yeah, Plum called back. She said that Friday doesn’t work for her anymore, but she can talk to you about Bog tonight…”_ Sunny squinted at his note. _“When the sky turns to a dusky rose as Apollo rests his golden chariot... which Dawn thinks is about seven thirty.”_

“Fine. Tell her to Skype me and I’ll…” 

Bog cut her off with a snarl.

“ _You’ll_ do nothing. This is _my_ life and _my_ visa and I’m not about to have you and that ridiculous hippy making decisions without me present!” 

Dagda, who had been struck dumb from the intensity of the argument between his daughter and this, well, beast of a man felt it was time to reenter the conversation. 

“He’s right, sweetheart. Although I don’t necessarily approve of the tone Dr. King is currently taking, I have to agree that if you truly believe that Plum is going to give you an answer tonight, he should be able to weigh in on his options.”

_Really Dad? You’re going to be the voice of reason now?!_ Marianne ground her teeth, ignoring the beginnings of a smirk growing on Bog’s face.

Sunny was anxiously listening to all of this from the relative safety of his desk. It was times like these that he sent a silent blessing to whomever invented intercoms.

_“So...should I say that you and Bog are going to be there, or just Bog…?”_ his voice trailed off hesitantly. 

“Actually,” Mr. Fairchild interjected, “I feel as if I should be there too.” 

Marianne’s eyes widened. 

“What?! Dad, no! I can totally handle this by myself. I mean, you’re probably busy with, um, jetlag and... things, so you really don’t even need to worry about it! Plum and I,”

Bog coughed pointedly.

“And _Bog_ ,” Marianne gritted out, “Will probably have this whole thing figured out in no time.”

“That mentality is precisely what I’m concerned about.” Her father had suddenly dropped his doting father persona and slipped into his businessman voice. Marianne held back a wince; when Dagda Fairchild used his businessman voice you _listened_. “From what I understand, this is turning into quite the complicated legal matter. And now you’ve pinned all your hopes on Ms. Devereaux and her _methods_ without any sort of contingency plan. Now I know you have been adamant in the past about refusing my help but I’m afraid I really must insist, if not as your father then as an experienced businessman who has been through his fair share of legal difficulties.”

Marianne dragged her hands over her face, probably smearing some of her eyeshadow along the way, as she could feel a migraine starting to flare up behind her eyes. Between Bog being an ass, her dad being annoyingly sensible, and Sunny letting anyone with a pulse into her office today, her tolerance for men had just about disappeared completely. 

“Okay, _fine_. Fine. You both can come tonight. But _you_ ,” She pointed at her father with all the sternness of a Catholic nun, “Have to promise that you will be there only as a legal consultant and let me and Bog have final say in what we do no matter how crazy you think it is,” 

Dagda opened his mouth.

“Or how much you want to fix it for us.”

He snapped his mouth shut, looking a bit chastised, but nodded his agreement. 

“You have my word.”

She turned to Bog. “And _you_ have to promise that you aren’t going to start anything with Plum.”

“I’m nae promising anything. And _she’s_ the one who always starts something!” Bog sneered. As far as feuds went none were as long or as glorious as Marianne’s and Bog’s but the one between him and Plum could come in at a close second. Plum was everything Bog despised: loud, erratic, and uncomfortably obsessed with everyone’s love life. (To be perfectly honest, she was frighteningly similar to his mother.) During one of her sporadic (and blessedly rare) visits she had managed to sneak in to his locked office and rearranged every piece of furniture claiming that the _feng shui_ of the room was causing a block in his _emotional and sexual energies_. They had been the best of enemies ever since. 

_“So, uh, are all of you coming, or…?”_ Sunny’s voice chimed in from Marianne’s desk. All three of the others jumped as they had all but forgotten they had a fourth party listening in to their conversation.

“Yes, Sunny! _Everyone’s_ coming!” Marianne exclaimed, probably a bit more harshly than was strictly necessary and flopped into her large desk chair. 

Suddenly Dawn’s petite, sunshine-like voice answered from the other side of the intercom. 

_“In that case, can Sunny and I come too? We’d love to help!”_

Marianne threw back her head against her chair, closing her eyes. Her migraine was taking a turn for the sadistic.

“Sure Dawn, why not. Let’s just make it a community event; maybe we can sell tickets.” 

_“Okay well, Sunny and I have dinner reservations tonight at 8:15 so we’ll need to make this one quick but we’ll see you there.”_ The intercom shut off with a cheerful little click. 

There was an uncomfortably pregnant pause for a moment. 

“Would anyone _else_ like to bring guests?” Marianne all but growled to the two men left in her office. She pushed herself out from behind her desk and advanced towards them. 

Both men shook their heads. Dagda seemed to be regretting his decision to insert himself in the middle of this particular conversation but it was far too late to back out now. Bog just seemed perplexed as to how his trip upstairs had somehow landed him with an evening with the entire Fairchild family, Sunny, and Plum fucking Devereaux.

“Well then, Dad, maybe you should head back to your hotel; Bog, you can go back under your bridge and I’m going to get back to work before Dawn decides I wasn’t joking about selling tickets.”

Seeing that his eldest was probably done talking for the foreseeable future, Dagda quietly excused himself from the room with an indistinct murmur about changing out of his travel wear. Bog remained rooted to his original location in front of the door making it all the more difficult for the bearded man to make a graceful exit. Eventually, he managed to slide out into the lobby area and saw Dawn perched on the edge of young Mr. Elfman’s desk.

“Isn’t this great, Daddy? Now we all can be there tonight to help Marianne and Boggy!” 

Dawn’s cheeriness was overshadowed slightly by a faint rumbling coming from Marianne’s office followed by the door flinging itself open and a livid Bog storming out of the room, Marianne hot on his heels. 

“AND STAY OUT OF MY OFFICE!” she bellowed, grabbing the edge of her door before it shut.

“I’M ALREADY OUT O’ YER OFFICE!” he roared back, yanking open the door to the hall. 

Both doors slammed close with enough force to shake the few pictures hanging on the walls, one of them actually falling to the floor with a vicious clatter. 

Sunny sighed and got up to retrieve yet another casualty of the Great Fairchild-King conflict while Dawn continued to smile brightly at her father, who was wondering just what in the world he had signed up for.

* * *

The conference room was on the same floor as Marianne’s office and was the only room within the company that had a big enough table to seat the now five members of their meeting and have them all be made visible on the webcam. Sunny had been unanimously voted as the resident tech guy for the evening as Marianne had no patience when it came to figuring out which wires connected where; Bog’s technological expertise was limited to email, texting, and one game that he accidentally downloaded a year ago and couldn’t figure out how to remove; and Dagda was well...old. 

Of course, that didn’t stop Sunny from trying to convince his beautiful and surprisingly stubborn girlfriend that they really didn’t need to be a part of this. Dawn, however, was adamant that they both attend.

“You know how those two get, Sunny. And with Dad there, Marianne will be on edge the entire night; she needs the moral support.” She paused for a moment as they finished up with the webcam and leaned in closer. 

“Besides,” she whispered, an impish grin crossing her face, “Plum always makes Boggy blush like a tomato and I don’t want to miss it!” 

Sunny grimaced a bit at the thought. He was just getting used to plain old Angry Bog, he really didn’t want to try out Embarrassed and Angry Bog. The rest of the group began to file in with an apprehensive looking Dagda (who had changed out of his traveling clothes into more business-like attire) leading the way. Marianne followed closely behind and looked particularly tense, and Bog already radiated irritation.

As they all began to take their seats around the large table, Sunny decided to make a bid for escape. 

“Dawn, maybe I should go and get everyone some snacks since this could take a while. There’s a convenience store about four blocks from here and-”

“Don’t be silly! I already brought us some trail mix and popcorn.” Dawn opened her purse to display several small plastic bags.

“Oh well, what about drinks? There’s a vending machine in the lobby-”

“Got that too!” 

Five small bottles of water seemed to be produced from thin air and Sunny sighed. Why did he have to have a girlfriend who was apparently a Boy Scout in a past life?

Marianne had logged in and was waiting for the program to open. A cheerful ringing signalled that time was running out and Sunny was running out of reasons to leave. 

He made one more effort to remove himself before Plum answered their call.“Can I please go to the bathroom? I don’t even really need to be here for th--”

Marianne shushed him instantly. “Shhhhh! Here she is!”

A slightly pixelated version of Plumeria Devereaux, complete with her electric blue updo, appeared on the computer. The thin wisp of a woman didn’t seem the least bit surprised by the number of people there and greeted them all with an enthusiasm that made Bog want to gag.

“Hello my lovelies! Oh, y’all look so pale- maybe we should book a week or two somewhere tropical? I hear that there are some truly amazing nude beaches in-”

“Plum, focus!” Marianne snapped, “We don’t have time for vacation! Did you get my emails?”

The blue-haired woman sighed. “Yes Marianne, all 83 of them. Honestly, I go on a tech-free retreat for a week and suddenly everybody has an emergency!”

“So?” Marianne prompted, eyeing the screen eagerly, “How do we fix this? What weird little clause from the 1800’s is going to save us?”

Plum frowned for a moment, clearly unimpressed that no one seemed the slightest bit interested in hearing about her trip, but decided to indulge the oldest Fairchild girl. The poor thing looked as if her chakras hadn’t been aligned in months!

“Well, you certainly have yourselves in quite the pickle here, legally speaking.” Plum paused.

Marianne’s heart stopped. “You mean… you mean there’s nothing we can do?!”

Plum tutted. “Oh ye of little faith! Of course, there’s always _something_ you can do- especially if you’re willing to open your minds to the possibilities.” Her hands fanned out dramatically at the word ‘possibilities’. 

Bog ground his teeth together in order to stop himself from demanding she cut the theatrics and get to damn point. 

“Okay, fine, consider us open,” Marianne said, “Now what do we do?”

“Well my little lotus blossoms, the only way to keep Dr. King in the country is t-” Plum’s form completely froze, seemingly cutting her off at the most crucial moment of the conversation.

“Oh my god,” Marianne panicked, her fingers frantically clicking the mouse,“No. Nonononono!”

“What did you do?!” Bog demanded, his own hands now fidgeting over the wires attached to the screen, despite not having a clue about what they actually did. 

“I didn’t do anything!” 

Both of them desperately tried to find the source of the problem, all while the rest of the table quietly prayed that it was something simple before they witnessed a double emotional breakdown. 

“Maybe it’s the-”  
“Try the oth-”

“BOO!” Plum’s strong southern twang shot through the speakers like a cannon. Marianne and Bog leapt back from the computer like spooked cats. Sunny had been on edge since the whole thing started and flung himself under the conference table for cover with an undignified yelp. Seeing that her prank was a roaring success, Plum dissolved into a fit of giggles. 

“Dammit, Plum! This is serious!” Marianne smacked the table, which made Sunny pop back up meerkat-like and retake his seat. 

“Oh I’m sorry honey-lamb,” Plum chuckled, “Y’all just seemed so tense; I just wanted to lighten the mood a bit!”

“This is a waste of time!” Bog exclaimed, “She’s not even a real lawyer.”

One of Plum’s eyebrows (also blue) raised slightly. “Well, young man, this not-a-real-lawyer is about to give you the answer to your problem. So I suggest you mind your manners.”

Bog felt a light tugging at the hem of his shirt and saw Dawn, pleasant as ever, patting the seat next to her.

“C’mon Boggy, you might as well hear what she has to say.”

“Fine, but this’d better be good.” he muttered and slowly lowered himself back into his seat.

Plum made a show of clearing her throat before beginning once more.

“As I was saying, since the traditional route of keeping Dr. King in the country has been road-blocked, we must now take the road less traveled.”

It took every ounce of willpower in both Marianne and Bog’s bodies to keep from rolling their eyes.

“The United States has few loopholes that allow for a person without citizenship to remain in the country. One is on the basis of seeking asylum for political or religious reasons.”

“I don't think being a stubborn ass is a recognized religion.” Marianne muttered just loud enough for Bog to hear.

“I have an aunt that’s Catholic and says I’m going to hell for believing in evolution.” Bog offered raising a middle finger in Marianne’s general direction.

Plum thought for a moment. “Hmmmm, probably not enough.”

Marianne nodded in agreement, “Next.”

“Then I suppose we can try to have Bog listed as a material witness for an upcoming murder case.”

“Murder?!” Marianne exclaimed.

“Oh well, I suppose it doesn’t _have_ to be murder, that’s just the most common reason for witnesses. But any major felony would do!”

“I’m not a criminal!” Bog threw his hands up in the air, as if showing he was unarmed.

“Well of course not, my little moonpie. But it would really be helpful if you knew some criminals and maybe had vital information to bring them to justice.” 

“I donnae know any criminals either! The only people I know here are either from work or my landlady. So unless Mrs. Willowby is smuggling cocaine in her ceramic cat figurines, we’re gonna need another option!”

“Oooooh drug smuggling, that’s another good one. It’s too bad you don’t live in a more dangerous neighborhood.” 

Dawn quickly stifled the giggle that slipped out after a stern look from her sister.

“C’mon Plum,” Marianne pleaded, “We really, really need a winner here. What’s our third option?”

Another brief pause.

“You’re really sure you haven’t witnessed a murder during your time in the States?” Plum asked hopefully.

“Yes, ye little Smurf!”

“Well then, I suppose that just leaves my last and personal favorite option. My professional, _legal_ opinion is that Dr. King gets married to an American citizen as soon as he possibly can.”

There was a brief silence, and then a cacophony of outraged voices.

“WHAT?!”

“Married. You know like with flowers and cake, optional birdseed being thrown in the air. I’d try to start looking for a venue soon, all the good spots will probably be booked a year in advance.” 

“Plum, have you lost your mi-”

“Lady, ye’ve gone outta ye fu-”

“Sorry my darlings, I hate to cut this short, but my spiritual healer is gathering us for our evening meditation and he says that cell phones bring terrible energy into our spiritual sanctuary. Let me know if anything changes on that witness front and I’ll talk to you in a couple weeks!”

The call ended with a cheerful little click and left the black mirror of the computer screen reflecting a horrified Marianne and sputtering Bog.

“I think that went well, don’t you?” Dawn looked around the room as if completely oblivious to the lead cannonball that had just smashed into every possible plan Maianne had concocted inside of her head. 

“I’m no’ getting fuckin’ married,” Bog said resolutely, his accent thickening with his rising agitation.

Marianne snorted. “Yeah, no shit. Besides who would we even find to go along with this? It’s not like we can just put an add on Craigslist.”

Bog’s face flushed at the notion of a hired bride or something equally as crass. Before he had a chance to voice further objections to such a plan, Dawn decided to put forth her own suggestion on the matter.

“Why don’t you and Boggy just get married?”

A long beat of silence passed through the room.

_“WHAT?!”_

The entire table burst out in surprise - even Sunny, who had tried to remain as quiet as possible during this whole ordeal, couldn’t contain his shock at the idea. Plum’s idea was out there, but Dawn’s? Dawn’s was just _insane_!

But despite the bug-eyed looks she was getting from everyone at the table, Dawn repeated her suggestion as if it were the most obvious thing in the world as she continued to examine her nail polish. 

“Dawn,” Marianne began slowly, trying to control her emotions, “This isn’t one of your trashy romance novels. Not everything is magically solved by people getting married.”

“Especially when they can barely make it through a staff meeting without brawling.” Sunny muttered.

“All I’m saying is, if Boggy—”

“Bog!”

“—If Boggy and you get married, the government can’t make him leave even if his work visa-card-thingy is expired. _And_ you wouldn’t have to let anyone else know what you’re doing or why.”

Marianne was still gaping as she turned to her father who had been unusually quiet during this whole ordeal. 

“Dad, help me out here. There’s no way that some civil hall sham would be enough to keep Bog in the country even if we did go through with it. Which we’re _not_!” Marianne directed that last part specifically in Dawn’s general direction, who shrugged before retrieving a nail file from her purse.

Dagda stroked his beard pensively before choosing his words.

“Well, legally speaking it would be, but it would be incredibly difficult to persuade anyone from Immigration that such a union was in fact legitimate, meaning it might turn out to be a very short term solution with very long term, very serious legal consequences.”

Marianne nodded triumphantly and looked at her sister.

“See Dawn, even Dad thinks this is a st-“

Dagda interrupted his oldest daughter and continued. “However, since we still have a bit of time to plan… A fairly large ceremony, with the right guests in attendance, of course, and a few well placed public appearances beforehand… now that just might work. And you have the advantage of already knowing one another.”

Now it was time for everyone to switch their astonishment from the youngest member of the Fairchild family to the eldest. 

“Uh, Mr. Fairchild, I dorn’t--”

“Dad you can’t be--”

“I really, really need to go to the bathroom now!” Sunny exclaimed trying to make another break for the conference room door before being held in his chair by four pairs of glaring eyes. He had to talk to the maintenance man, Pare, about getting another door in here, or at least some kind of emergency Sunny-sized escape hatch.

“Just hear me out, kids,” Mr. Fairchild said ignoring the outbursts, “As of now you two have two options: Option one, send Dr. King back to Scotland and postpone the release of the new products until some kind of arrangement can be met through the Immigration department.”

Marianne ran a frustrated hand through her short hair making it even more wild than normal. 

“That could set us back by months, maybe even years! If we don’t have anything new for the next two quarters we may as well forget about rebuilding, we’ll have to worry about keeping the lights on!” 

Bog immediately picked up the argument after Marianne had punctuated her piece with a defiant slouch in her chair. 

“An’ I’m not leaving my life’s work in the hands of a bunch of halfwits who can’t tell the difference between a gardenia and a garden gnome!” 

Marianne rolled her eyes. “Oh please, I think we could manage keeping the plants watered O-Mighty-Bog-King.”

Bog’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “I highly doubt that considering you couldn’t even manage to sign _one bloody piece of paper_!”

Marianne was on her feet in an instant.

“I told you, I never got your stupid papers!” she shouted.

“I left them in your mailbox, did they sprout wings and fly?!” Bog leapt to his feet as well, towering over the brunette woman with a rage that would have made most people dissolve into tears, but for Marianne it only seemed to fuel her own fury. The two continued their loud and colorful debate with renewed enthusiasm for a good couple minutes until an ear-piercing whistle sliced through the air. 

Dawn daintily removed her pinkies from her mouth before saying, “Obviously, you two have a lot to talk about so I’m going to go ahead and call this meeting over so you guys can finish your dumb argument, and Sunny and I can make it to our dinner reservations. Daddy, do you have anything else to add?”

Dagda (who had also been trying to diffuse the situation, but unfortunately never learned how to whistle) nodded. “I know this situation is not ideal, for either of you, and for that I’m sorry. But you two must stop this childish bickering before you make decisions that risk more than just some money and pride.” 

Both Marianne and Bog had the good sense to look a little contrite as they took their seats again. 

Dagda continued, “People are heavily invested in this company continuing to grow, and I don’t just mean financially invested. Because if you two are dead set against this, I just want you both to know that you have been given legal, albeit unorthodox, advice to resolve this situation and decided against it. That the two of you weighed your personal feelings against the well-being of your employees and found them to be lacking.” 

He sighed the deep sigh of man who had been making difficult decisions for far too much of his life. “I’m not saying that this will be easy, and I’m not even saying that we should stop trying to find another way to keep Dr. King in the country. What I am saying is that if we all really commit to this plan, we can buy ourselves plenty of time to fix all of this with no one being the wiser.”

A heavy silence fell among the group. 

Dagda cleared his throat and stood to leave. As he reached the door, he turned and addressed his eldest daughter once more.

“I won’t tell you what to do. You’re far too independent and stubborn for any such coddling. All I ask is that you both reach a decision by the end of the week and are prepared for the consequences, whatever you decide.” 

And with that, he left the conference room and headed for the elevator. Dawn and Sunny also stood, quietly shuffling behind Dagda, with Sunny still muttering something about needing to use the restroom before they left. 

Then it was just Marianne and Bog. 

The silent tension in the air was palpable. Only the distant noises of the cars below them filtered through the room before Bog made the first move.

“So, now what?”

Marianne, who had been resting her now throbbing head in her hands, looked up at him with a defeated look in her eyes. 

“What do you mean, now what?” She sighed. “Now I get ready to delay production for the indefinite future, then I get to lay off almost a hundred people, then I put one thing that was going right in my life in the toilet and wait for someone to flush.”

“So we’re just giving up, then? Just waving the white flag? I thought you had a little more fight in you, Fairchild.” Bog crossed his arms and lifted his pointed chin. Marianne narrowed her eyes and mirrored his position.

“What do you want from me, huh? I’ve done everything I can think of, some of which have probably placed me on some sort of federal watchlist. I’m done. I’m out. I am completely drained of ideas.” Her shoulders drooped a bit at that last admission. 

Admitting defeat did not come naturally to Marianne, a trait which up until now had served her well in the corporate world. And as much as he loved challenging her, Bog had to admit seeing his greatest sparring partner finally surrender left him uneasy. 

He swallowed once before speaking again. “What if I did it?”

Marianne lifted an exhausted eyebrow at him. “Did what?”

He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “Well, ye know… got married or... somethin’,” His voice which was low to begin with trailed off into another tense silence. Marianne lifted her head but her eyes remained just as defeated.

“I couldn’t ask you to do that, Bog,” she said quietly, “I know you hate the idea of marriage just as much as I do. And as much as I want to save my company, I… I wouldn’t ask that of anyone.”

“I know, but what if you, er, I mean… what if we,” Bog struggled to formulate the right words, “What if we did, er...whatifwegotmarriedtoeachotherlikeyersistersaid?”

Now there are certain times in a person’s life when the brain makes an executive decision to cut power to one’s sense of hearing. Most times it’s when someone else is about to say something so shocking or stupid (or shockingly stupid) that the brain is sure that if it is made to immediately process the words, it will undoubtedly catch fire. But even with such a sophisticated biological safety measure like this deployed, Marianne was certain her eyes had seen Bog’s lips saying something about wanting them to get married.

“I’m sorry, I think I’m having a stroke. What did you just say?” Her eye twitched nervously. Bog’s broad shoulders seemed to hunch themselves inward even more than normal, as if he was hoping he could fold himself up like a lawn chair and throw himself into a storage closet.

“Maybe we should, well...you know… get married.”

Another twitch.

“Are you… are you serious?”

Bog huffed, looking more than a little uncomfortable. “Well, yeah kinda. I dorn’t just go around proposin’ every day ye know.”

Marianne blinked, trying to absorb this information. Having Dawn and Plum suggest marriage was one thing, they both lived in a magic world full of rainbow puppies and naked cupids armed with lawn darts. But Bog? Bog and her agreed on very little but the one piece of common ground they both shared was their mutual hatred of all things romantic. 

“But- but you, _we_ hate all this love stuff!” Marianne exclaimed, gesturing between the two of them.

“I know,” Bog replied.

“And we would have to have a wedding,”

“I. Know.”

“And we’d have to hold hands and kiss and stuff and--”

“I know!” Bog, nearly shouting now, cleared his throat and repeated himself quieter this time. “I know all that. It’s just... even if I could find someone desperate enough to agree to marry someone like me, they’d just end up disappointed or hurt. You’re the only one who wouldn’t expect me to make an ass of myself or fall in love with you just because we were married.”

Marianne sat there for a moment contemplating everything Bog had said. What was infuriating about this whole idea was how much sense it was making! 

Trying to find a stranger who was willing to be a part of this all was just asking for trouble, and even if they did, they would no doubt try to squeeze every last penny out of Bog when he inevitably asked for a divorce. Or worse, they could blackmail him (and her) for trying to pull one over on the federal government. As much as she hated to admit it, this idea of Dawn’s had merit. 

But marriage?

After Roland, Marianne had promised herself that she would never even contemplate men, let alone marriage, again. Her first (and last) heartbreak nearly destroyed her and everything she had worked so hard to build and she would be damned before she let another man have that much power over her ever again.

Suddenly, Bog’s tall lanky frame seemed to shrink into a small more muscular build, cobalt blue eyes replaced with bright green. Flashes of her last wedding day came crashing over her like tidal waves, drowning her in memories. The too-poofy dress, the smell of those awful lilies and buttercups Roland’s mother had insisted on, and the way her tears burned down her cheeks when she told Dawn that the wedding was off.

_“C’mon Marianne, it’s just one little mistake.”_

Suddenly the conference room was devoid of all air. 

“I’m sorry, Bog,” Marianne choked, “I am, but I just…I can’t.” 

Bog broke her gaze and looked to the window for a moment. His eyes weren’t sad, not even disappointed, just resigned and somehow that hurt more.

“It’s okay,” he said, his voice remarkably calm, “It was a long shot anyway.”

“I’m sorry,” Marianne repeated as Bog stood to leave. 

And she was truly, deeply sorry. Sorry that she couldn’t fix this. Sorry that Bog was going to have to leave and her company was going to fail. Sorry that even after four years the very thought of marriage was enough to send her spiralling into an anxiety attack.

“S’okay, Marianne.” Bog stood in the doorway, facing away from where she was holding her throbbing skull in her hands. “I’m not really the marrying type anyway, so it’s probably better like this.”

He opened his mouth again, as if to add something, but apparently thought the better of it because he abruptly turned and made his way toward the elevator without a second glance.

He hadn’t even gone down a full floor before Marianne was biting her lip demanding herself not to cry.

He was nearly out the main doors before she decided to cut her losses, go back to her office, and crash on her pull-out couch.

And he was unlocking his front door when Marianne realized that this was the first time she ever heard him use her first name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our poor sad babies! Don't worry though, Chapter 4 will come and make everything better (or worse depending on your perspective)!
> 
> Leave me a comment on what's your favorite part so far- I love hearing from you all!
> 
> And as always, thank you for reading and I'll see you in the next chapter!!
> 
>   
> P.S. If any of you are curious as to what the story is behind Plum getting disbarred, just leave me a note in the comments- it's just as insane as you would imagine but unfortunately didn't make the final cut in the chapter!


	4. An Announcement is Made and Sunny Needs Another Raise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now, the moment we've all been waiting for...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4 is finally here!  
> Thanks for being patient with this one guys, it took a while but I think it's worth it!  
> As always, a HUGE thank you goes out to my fearless beta, JoJo, who makes my work sooo much better and gives me so much support!

Thursday morning came in a tense, foreboding kind of way. The mid-May sun seemed slightly dimmer than normal, the sky had turned to a steely gray and even the normally bustling spring wind held its breath in waiting.

Sunny turned the collar up on his army jacket and jogged the last couple of steps into the building which housed FairFace Cosmetics’ headquarters. After they had left the meeting last night, Dawn and him went to dinner at a new sushi restaurant she had wanted to try. Sunny himself wasn’t a big fan of sushi (or any raw meat) but for Dawn he would gladly endure a hundred California rolls if it meant making her happy. Luckily, he doubted that Dawn even remembered the food as she was still preoccupied with the lukewarm reception everyone had given her idea about how to keep Bog in the country. 

“It’s not like getting married is the end of the world!” She exclaimed, poking at her bowl of sticky rice with her chopsticks. “And besides, they already argue like an old married couple. _‘You didn’t sign this,’_ and _‘Stop tracking on my floors,’_ God it’s, like, so obvious, right?”

“Uh-huh,” Sunny said noncommittally. Truth be told, she did have a point, but he was a little more concerned about how his octopus kept moving around on his plate when he wasn’t looking. Dawn ate a few more bites of her dinner, her brows drawn together in a pensive gaze.

“Sunny?” she asked, still looking at her plate. “You don’t think my idea is stupid, do you?”

Instantly, Sunny forgot about the octopus tentacle trying to make a break for the edge of the table and redirected his focus to his girlfriend. 

“No, honey, of course not! I mean it’s,” Sunny searched for the right word, “Unexpected, maybe, but not stupid.”

“Really?” Her voice sounded so small and unsure; it broke his heart. 

He nodded. “Really. And you’ve got to remember too that neither Marianne or Bog were big fans of marriage or dating in general and that was _before_ any of this started!”

Dawn gave a tiny smile. “Remember on Valentine’s Day when my dad set her up on a blind date with one of his friend’s sons and she literally crawled out of the bathroom window of the coffee shop he took her to? She was even in heels!”

Sunny laughed, he remembered that day vividly. Marianne had come limping back to her office after walking over half a dozen city blocks, carrying a mangled pair of heels in one hand (which she immediately threw away afterward) and a bottle of aspirin in the other.

“Or that time when Bog banned love songs from playing in or near his lab claiming that it _‘annoyed ma plants’_?!” Sunny’s voice dropped into a low, growly imitation of Bog’s accent causing them both to burst into a fit of giggles. Once they regained control over their laughter, Dawn had cheered up considerably. 

“You know, I just have a feeling that all of this is going to work out for us.”

“You think?”

“Yeah,” she said resting her cheek against his shoulder, “I don’t really know how to explain it but I do.” 

Sunny pressed a gentle kiss on his girlfriend’s forehead. “I hope you’re right, sweetheart. And who knows? Maybe I’ll walk in to work tomorrow and those two will have gotten everything sorted out overnight? Weirder things have happened.” 

Of course, as much as he trusted Dawn’s instincts (which were usually right), he wasn’t about to walk in to work without some back up. Armed with a large orange-raspberry muffin and an even larger caramel latte, Sunny mentally prepared himself for whatever the day would throw at him as he waited for the elevator to take him upstairs. 

The elevator took no pity on him and arrived at his floor in what felt like record time. He fished for his office key in his leather messenger bag before realizing the light in Marianne’s office was already on. _“That’s weird.”_ Sunny thought to himself. Marianne, while highly dedicated to her work, was not a morning person and usually preferred to stay late over arrive early. He quietly set his belongings down on his desk and double checked the time on his phone. With how crazy things had been lately, he wouldn’t be surprised if one of them had forgotten how to tell time. 

After confirming that it was in fact 6:52 am, Sunny shifted his breakfast offerings to one arm and knocked lightly on the door. 

“Marianne? You in there?” He called softly. 

Nothing. 

He knocked again, a bit more firmly this time. 

“Marianne? I brought breakfast; it’s a raspberry muffin.” 

More silence was the only thing that answered his offer and now Sunny was a little concerned. 

Even on Marianne’s worst days, a fresh raspberry muffin was a surefire way to lure her out of her office and make sure she actually ate that day (even if it only meant that she cracked the door open wide enough to snatch the pastry like a feral cat).

He cautiously cracked open the door. Maybe one of the custodians had left the light on after cleaning last night? Taking a step inside, Sunny noted that the room had fallen into an even deeper state of disarray than normal. Papers that were highlighted within an inch of their life covered nearly every flat surface, each one with dozens of small sticky notes attached. It looked like Marianne was trying to single-handedly come up with a way to stop time or rewrite immigration laws. Speaking of Marianne, she had apparently fallen asleep mid-highlight as her head was face down on a stack of papers and a blue highlighter dangled loosely from her fingertips. 

Gently, Sunny gave her shoulder a little nudge. He had been warned many times by Dawn never to waken her unless he was willing to take the chance of being accidentally bitten or purposefully punched.

“Marianne?”

A small groan was his only answer. He considered just leaving the muffin and coffee there, but then thought the better of it. Even asleep she looked absolutely exhausted, and who knew when the last time she ate was. 

He tried shaking her shoulder this time. 

“Marianne,”

Instantly her head shot up, “I’m awake!”

Her eyes were almost completely bloodshot as she turned to address whoever had awakened her. And while she was definitely awake now, she looked a little crazy and more than a little disheveled. Her chin-length chestnut hair which usually stuck out in stylish layers now looked like she had been electrocuted and her dark eyeshadow had been smeared into a raccoon mask overnight (though the dark circles under her eyes may have had nothing to do with makeup at all). Her face had caught an assortment of sticky notes that were still attached to her cheek, and there was a swipe of blue highlighter on her chin. 

Sunny plucked a few sticky notes that had found their way to her hair before responding. 

“I can see that. What time did you get home last night?”

Marianne rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands, clearly not caring about her makeup any longer. 

“I didn’t, I slept on my couch again.”

Sunny glanced at the pull-out couch located in the corner. She must not have slept for very long as she didn’t even bother to actually pull it out into a bed and instead just tossed the couple throw pillows to the floor. He cleared a spot on her desk before setting down the take-out bag and coffee.

“You can’t keep this up, Marianne. You know that right?”

Marianne ignored him and reached for the coffee. 

“I’m serious. You’re going to work yourself to death trying to figure all of this out on your own.”

“I’m fine, Sunny, really. I can rest once these new products launch and Bog gets his green card.”

He paused.

“So you and Bog aren't...”

“No.” Marianne clutched her coffee like a liferaft. “He offered but I just...couldn’t. Not after, you know.”

Sunny nodded silently. Being one of the first employees of FairFace he had borne witness to the Roland Incident and its aftermath which had nearly destroyed the company at its inception. It wasn’t surprising that she hadn’t jumped at the idea of trying again, even if it was for more practical reasons this time. 

“Listen, Marianne,” he began pulling over a chair from the front of her desk, “I think you should take the day off.”

Before she could even form the beginnings of her inevitable protest Sunny cut her off.

“I know you think if you just keep working harder you’re going to find some way out of this, and maybe you will, but if you keep on like you are it won’t matter ‘cause you’ll be too burnt out to care.”

“You’re right.” Marianne admitted softly.

“Now I mean it Mar-, wait what?”

Marianne sighed, setting her coffee down and beginning to pick at her muffin.

“I said you’re right. Happy?”

“Well, yeah, I mean...really?” Sunny had been her personal assistant for going on four years and had yet to ever hear her admit to being wrong (although really what she was doing here was saying someone else was right, but it was closer than anyone had gotten). 

“I just can’t…” She closed her eyes, struggling for words, “I can’t believe I’m going to fail. After everything: Roland, all those bastards that tried to intimidate me when I first started, the FDA red tape I’ve jumped through. I’ve always found a way to keep us going, but this…” She sighed. “This is the thing that finally takes me down.”

The muffin was essentially a small pile of crumbs now; Sunny wasn’t even sure if she had taken a bite. 

“And if I’m going to tell everyone tomorrow morning that we’re all going to be out of jobs within the month, I can’t see how taking the day off is going to hurt.”  
Marianne’s misery was practically coming off of her in waves and for once Sunny was finding it hard to live up to his name. 

“Marianne,” he began, “Do you know why I took this job?”

She snorted. “Because my sister asked you to and you’d literally walk into traffic if she thought it’d be cute?”

“No! Well, maybe, but that’s not the point I’m trying to make!” He sighed. “I took this job because when you talk about this company or your product ideas or everything you want to do for your people, you get this kind of unstoppable look about you- like nothing could stand in your way. Like you would fight anything and anyone if it meant making things just a little bit better for us.”

She ducked her head lower, concentrating on her massacred breakfast as Sunny continued.

“You’re a great leader, Marianne, and taking a few losses doesn’t change that.”

After another minute or two staring down the carnage left by her muffin, Marianne raised her head a bit to look at him.

“I don’t know what to do anymore.”

“Well, maybe you should start with the next right thing.”

Marianne suddenly burst out laughing.

“Oh my God Sunny, you did not just quote Frozen 2 to me!”

“It’s a very touching film!” Sunny protested, but couldn’t help but laugh along. The laughter faded quickly but Marianne’s misery didn’t seem to weigh quite as heavy on her anymore.

“But seriously,” Sunny said, standing up, “Just take the day. Go home, go see your dad, go do _something_ other than worry about this. We’ll figure it out.”

Marianne stood up as well, dusting herself off. “And if we don’t?” 

“Then we’ll be behind you ‘til the bitter end.”

Sunny had to smile a bit to himself. Being with Dawn was making him much more dramatic, but also much more eloquent. He helped gather her things and handed her her coffee as he escorted her to the elevator doors. 

“Thanks Sunny,” Marianne said, shifting her bag to her shoulder so she could take the to-go cup from his hands. “For what you said back there. I know I don’t really say it much but you are a good guy and I just, well, I’m glad that no matter what happens you have my back.”

Her eyes shifted a bit at that last part and Sunny smiled brightly. She could reduce a hardened business man to tears and never bat an eye but genuinely complimenting someone? It was like she turned into a shy teenager at her first mixer.

“You bet, boss! Now get outta here, I have emails to check!”

Marianne rolled her eyes fondly but hit the button closing the elevator doors. Sunny let out a deep sigh, feeling more at ease than he had in days. Even though nothing was really solved, he felt infinitely better about their chances of making it through this without Marianne having a nervous breakdown or Bog going to federal prison.

They were going to make it...somehow.

* * *

As the elevator began to near the ground floor, Marianne could feel her previous anxiety start to creep back up in the back of her mind. Was she really doing this? Just leaving like she had any right to walk past all the people she had promised gainful employment to while knowing she was about to pull the rug out from under them in another twenty-four hours? What was she thinking? 

Why would she ever let Sunny talk her into taking a day off?!

“Miss Marianne, is that you? You look like you haven’t slept in weeks!”

Oh yeah, that’s why. 

Orlena Garcia, the supervisor for FairFace’s production workers, gazed at her with evident concern. As one of the first employees Marianne had hired when creating FairFace, Orlena was more like an aunt than an employee. 

“I’m fine, Mrs. Garcia really. I was just heading home for a bit.”

She nodded her head approvingly. “You young people are all the same-- never slowing down! My Lupé is the same way, never stops studying!” 

Marianne smiled as she stepped out of the elevator and into the lobby. Lupé was the first official recipient of FairFace’s college scholarship for young women pursuing business degrees and her parents’ pride and joy. 

“How’s she doing? Is she liking NYU?”

Mrs. Garcia beamed. 

“She loves it! I can't believe she’s already finished with her first year; between all her schoolwork and her part-time job I know she’ll be glad to come home for the summer.”

She unlocked her phone revealing to Marianne a picture of herself and a young woman with long dark hair and a dazzling grin. Lupé was a brilliant girl and knowing that she had helped the girl afford her dream school made Marianne’s chest swell with pride. That pride however was quickly deflated as reality suddenly punched her in the gut. If Fairface shut down, even temporarily, not only would Mrs. Garcia be laid off but Lupé’s scholarship would completely fall apart. 

Marianne could feel the color drain from her face as her father’s words tolled like funeral bells in her mind. 

_“You weighed your personal feelings against the well-being of your employees and found them to be lacking,”_

She could hear herself say an abrupt goodbye to slightly confused Mrs. Garcia as she stumbled toward the exit. Somehow, Marianne was able to find her parking spot along with her gray sedan in her sleep deprived state but had to try three times to actually unlock it as her hands were shaking so badly she could barely hold her keys. 

Finally the door gave a merciful click and Marianne threw herself in the driver's seat. She felt sick. How was she ever going to face these people, _her_ people, tomorrow? She forced herself to take several deep breaths as she could tell she was on the verge of another full-blown anxiety attack. It was something Plum had suggested she try after the Roland Incident and was also the only remedy she had recommended that didn’t involve needles or crystals being put in unmentionable places. 

With a few more breaths, Marianne had calmed herself enough to drive home. Luckily, it wasn’t that far and the turns and bends in the roads had long since been ingrained into her memory. She turned the radio volume up loud enough to force her racing thoughts into the background and pulled out of the lot and into the street. The short ride barely registered in her mind and before she knew it she was home and unlocking her front door for the first time in what felt like an eternity. All at once the exhaustion she had been pushing down came back with a vengeance.

Collapsing on her bed, Marianne sent up a silent prayer for dreamless sleep. The last thing she needed was to see the faces of everyone she was going to let down tomorrow; right now she just wanted to forget.

* * *

The sound of Bog’s work boots on the linoleum floor echoed through the hallway as he slowly dragged his feet toward the elevator. Friday had come with the kind of dreadful inevitability that was usually reserved for incoming meteors or dentist appointments. The entire building felt like it had been holding its breath for the last forty-eight hours and for good reason. Rumors ran the gamut ranging from the almost true _(Did you hear that Ms. Fairchild is going to fire Dr. King on Friday?)_ to the batshit insane _(I heard that she’s going to formally declare the building an autonomous zone and form a militia.)_. In all fairness, Marianne had been uncharacteristically quiet since Wednesday night so people were left to fill in the blanks with gossip and highly creative imaginations. 

At the thought of what had happened that night, Bog couldn’t help but cringe. Not only had he made a spectacular ass of himself, offering up marriage like someone of Marianne’s position would ever even consider someone like him to be anything other than an unfortunate necessity, but he had seen the horrified look that came over her face as she contemplated being joined with him, even briefly. It was a look he had seen before, but seeing it on her face was almost unbearable. He could only be grateful that his senses kicked in when they did before he ended up looking even more pathetic. 

It wasn’t a big secret that they didn’t like each other, everyone with ears could have come to that conclusion within seconds, but what most people didn’t realize was that beneath the thick layers of snark and defensiveness lay a firm foundation of mutual respect. But because of his idiotic mouth and desperation that respect had probably been shattered beyond repair. 

_“Haven’t you learned anything from Lena?”_ Bog scolded himself, letting his forehead rest against the cool metal walls of the elevator. Nobody wanted him, they just wanted his work. Asking for more, asking for someone to _pretend_ , was just asking too much. Bog listened as the elevator jerked to life and began raising him towards his fate. There was nothing to do now except brace for impact and hope he could salvage something from the rubble.

The elevator doors dinged with a cheeriness that would have been comical if they hadn’t revealed what looked to be the opening hour of a wake. Every supervisor, mid-level and office worker had crammed themselves into the same conference room where Bog had effectively ended his career at FairFace not two days prior. Murmurs and whispers swarmed around like bees as Bog tried to hide his tall frame in the back of the room. Unfortunately, Thang, notorious for not being able to read the room, threw up his hand cheerily and started him waving over to the front of the table.

“BK! Hey BK! Stuff and I are over here! BK!” His frantic waving was about to take out a stack of paper cups set out for the free coffee before Stuff yanked his shirt hard enough to force him to sit back down. 

Deciding that it didn’t make much of a difference if he was in the back of the room or a couple yards to his left, Bog inched his way forward to where the rest of his team sat. 

“What’s the deal BK?” Stuff whispered as he stood behind them. “No one’s seen Miss Marianne since Wednesday and now there’s some rumor going around that she’s skipped town!”

“I dorn’t know, Stuff, okay? But I doubt she’d leave town-- she’s not the type.” That much he knew for certain. If Marianne Fairchild was going to announce their imminent demise she would at least have the decency to do it to her employees’ faces. Her sense of honor and pride would allow for nothing less. 

The chattering suddenly got remarkably quieter and Bog looked towards the door which was framing Marianne’s petite frame. 

She looked like hell. 

Her normally sharp makeup looked muddy and haphazard and her bright amber eyes had dimmed under the weight of the dark circles that hung beneath them. Those eyes that had challenged him time and time again were now lowered in defeat and it suddenly struck him how much they all had come to rely on her fortitude over the past years. Even with dozens of hard working employees on hand, Marianne Fairchild was truly the driving force behind FairFace’s success and endurance and seeing her like this brought the room to a standstill. 

Sunny walked in behind her, carrying his usual legal pad and a ballpoint pen. Even he looked more subdued than usual though that could have just been because his dreadlocks had been pulled back into a low ponytail today instead of swept up in a colorful bandana. 

“Good morning everybody,” he said nodding to Bog and the few others who had claimed a front row seat. “Um, as you know this is the Friday staff meeting and, well, normally Dawn leads these meetings but she’s out with her father today, but you probably didn’t need to know that...  
anyway here’s Marianne.”

As quickly as he began, Sunny took his seat and tried to give what Bog assumed to be an encouraging look to Marianne. 

With the grim determination of an executioner, she stood slowly from her seat at the head of the long table. 

“Hi everybody. Thank you all for coming here; I know that with our new products getting ready to launch everything has been a bit crazy which is why I want to cut right to the chase.” She scanned through the room with her penetrating gaze. “It has come to my attention that there have been several rumors circulating about Dr. King and myself, but I can’t blame you for that. For the past couple weeks I have asked that those closest to me keep the truth from you all but now I know that it’s time to do the right thing.”

Murmurs from around the room hummed through the air before Marianne raised her hand and regained the rapt attention from her audience.

“Please know that I don’t make this announcement lightly and I’m sorry if any of you feel misled or hurt for not knowing sooner.” She swallowed, looking paler by the minute.

 _“C’mon Fairchild you can do this. Just rip the Band-Aid off.”_ Bog mentally tried to bolster her though he knew that short of doing it for her there was no way to save her this pain. The room barely breathed as they waited for her next words.

“With that being said, I would like to, no I mean, _dammit_ I need…” 

She was panicking, he could feel it, and any minute her body was either going to shut down completely or projectile vomit on half the staff. Her eyes had started darting around the room looking for a safe haven from all of the expectant faces surrounding her. Finally amber eyes landed on his cobalt blue.

“I am formally announcing today that I am engaged...to Bog King.”

  


Dead. Fucking. Silence.

  


Now remember that thing where your brain shuts off power to your ears when something so unexpected or heinous is said and the only way to survive it is to just not hear it at all? Bog unfortunately had not been blessed with such a feature and instead could feel his entire body catch fire as each of Marianne Farichild’s words delivered a Superman punch directly to his sense of reality.

The one upside of it all was that meant he had a few more seconds than everyone else in the room to process what the hell had just happened and used them to close the space between him and his apparent fiancee. 

However, the fact that he was now standing next to Marianne was enough to break whatever spell had been cast on the rest of the room because within seconds all hell broke loose.

It was like the stock market collapsed in the middle of a Mardi Gras parade. Some people were shouting cheers, others looked nearly sick, Thang actually choked on his coffee bad enough that Stuff had to thump him on the back a few times. But no matter where they landed on the scale between elated and ill, every single person in the room was advancing on the two of them with questions burning in their eyes and drooling from their lips. 

Questions to which neither of them would have the answers. 

Seeing the walls literally start to close in on the two of them, Bog grabbed for Marianne’s hand and bolted for the door. Luckily, she was still stunned enough by her own announcement that she didn’t even have the presence of mind to protest. 

“Sunny, take care of these guys! We’re gonna need a few minutes!” Bog barked at the smaller man before barrelling their way through the door and away from the unruly crowd. 

People had already begun to shout their queries at the poor assistant but Bog could still hear the faint “Aw, shit.” come from his mouth.

* * *

As chaos continued to spill out from the conference room, Bog kept a firm grasp on Marianne’s hand as he ushered them toward the elevator. By a blessed stroke of luck, the doors were already wide open and once they were inside Bog punched the close button before anyone could follow them. 

He released her hand with shake and turned on her, his face a maelstrom of confusion, anger, and complete bewilderment. 

“What _the fuck_ was that, Fairchild?!”

Marianne shook her head. “I don’t know! I panicked okay?!”

“You panicked?! You donnae just announce to the entire fuckin’ building that we’re getting married and then say ‘I panicked.’” Bog’s accent was thick enough to cut with a knife and edging on the hysterical.

“I’m sorry, alright?! I’m running on four hours of sleep, Sunny almost made me cry yesterday, and I don’t want Lupè to drop out of college!” Marianne cried, throwing her arms out.

 _“WHO THE FUCK IS LUPÉ?!”_ Bog’s voice shook the elevator. 

Or actually it was the doors shuddering open. Some poor soul (who judging from his dead eyed stare and worn khakis probably worked for the call center below them) sighed after taking a glance at the scene unfolding in the elevator, and decided he would be taking the stairs from now on. 

Bog punched the close door button again and ordered the lift to take them to the basement. 

“Okay,” he said, pinching the bridge of his long nose between his fingers, “Forget for a second that we’re completely fucked and remind me: weren’t you the one who looked like she was going to vomit at the thought of marrying me? And now you're just what? Madly in love?”

Marianne glared at him.

“Of course not! And it wasn’t marriage to you necessarily that freaked me out it was just the whole marriage concept! The dress, the flowers, the everything okay?!”

“Oh and ye think I like this idea?”

Marianne ignored him and began chewing on what was left of her right thumbnail. Luckily, the awkward silence was cut short as the elevator announced their arrival to the basement, Bog’s domain. 

Before the doors had fully opened, Bog shot out of the metal box like a dog at the races, Marianne hot on his heels. 

“Hey! Where are you going? We have to talk about this!” Marianne shouted. Bog didn’t bother turning around and continued down the long hallway with single-minded determination.

“Oh we’re going to talk about this, but first I need a drink.” He replied, never breaking his long strides, making Marianne jog in order to keep up. 

Bog’s office was on the opposite end of the hallway and was more of a glorified plant nursery with a desk than an actual office for a human being. On one wall there was a floor to ceiling shelving unit that was being slowly taken over by a dozen little vine plants and a few old reference books. On the opposite wall sat a small desk that rivalled Marianne’s in terms of messiness. Test tubes, small planters, soil samples, and lab reports littered the top of his desk. In fact, if you replaced the dead leaves and empty planters with colored sticky notes and dirty coffee mugs the resemblance between the two offices was uncanny. 

Bog flipped on the overhead light which flickered before humming to life and made a beeline for a tall filing cabinet in the corner. Marianne trailed in behind him, wrinkling her nose at the overwhelming smell of soil and rot that assaulted her senses. 

A half empty bottle of brown liquor appeared from behind the filing cabinet and Bog plucked two clean graduated cylinders from the shelf, pouring them each a glass. Normally Marianne didn’t drink during a workday, but considering she just publicly engaged herself to the human embodiment of a stick bug with an attitude problem she was willing to make an exception. The first sip was the harshest and nearly made her choke but it smoothed out a bit after sips two and three (it was still horrible). Bog had forgone the sipping and instead downed his first beaker like a shot, visibly wincing as it burned down his throat. 

“Okay Fairchild, talk. What are we supposed to do now?”

Marianne grimaced as she took another sip of what she was suspecting was actually liquid fertilizer and not alcohol. 

“Well, I was thinking about what you said the other night, about you and me and well, you know.” Despite just announcing to most of the staff that she was apparently engaged to be married, she still had trouble not gagging on the actual words. 

Bog nodded at her to continue.

“And I just thought that, practically speaking, this might be our best bet for keeping you here with us while we figure out what to do next. I mean we both want the same thing and it’s not like it would have to be real, just real enough to fool people in public.” 

“So you’d be okay getting married? To me?” Bog prompted, gesturing to himself.

“What? Yeah, I told you-- everything was just happening so fast and so I just freaked, okay?”

“Okay,” Bog drawled, still skeptical. “But what about work?”

“What about it?”

“Ye don’t think people are going to think it’s a little odd that we’re being all lovey-dovey when a week ago ye literally threatened to hang me by my thumbs in the lobby?”

Marianne put her hands up. “Woah, woah, woah. Who said anything about being lovey-dovey at work? We’re getting married, not lobotomized. No one is just going to expect us to be Romeo and Juliet here. Besides my dad said that as long as we have a couple public appearances together and a decent wedding we should be in the clear legally speaking so who cares what everyone else thinks?”

Bog nodded again. Maybe this could work, after all lots of couples fought. His parents were good examples and they were married for over thirty years.

“Listen, I need you to keep this place going until we can find another way, and like it or not you need me to keep the government from shipping your butt out of here in three weeks. We can even have someone put all the details in writing if it will make you feel better.” 

Bog sat back in his chair, eyes closed, fingers steepled over his chest. In the past hour he had gone through the gauntlet in terms of extreme emotion and it was starting to take a toll on him. 

After what seemed like an eternity, he opened his eyes and stuck out his hand.

“That might have been the weirdest proposal in history, but okay Fairchild, ye got yerself a deal.”

Marianne set her drink aside and grasped his hand. “Deal.”

With his large calloused hand surrounding hers, they sealed their fate. 

“Now comes the really difficult part.”

Bog raised an eyebrow. “What?”

Marianne sighed and took a long pull from her beaker. 

“Now we have to face my sister.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here. we. go!  
> Operation Fake Marriage/Real Idiots has officially begun!
> 
> Thank you all for reading; the next chapter will be posted after New Year's so stay tuned. In the meantime, be on the lookout for little ficlets from this same verse!!
> 
> Be sure to let me know in the comments what your favorite part is so far and have a VERY Merry Christmas and a Happy Holidays!


End file.
